We Are Each Other
by Ingebjorg9
Summary: A series of short stories/oneshots exploring the relationships between the different characters in the Swedish Wallander series. Updated: what's REALLY going on between Kurt and Ann-Britt?
1. Stefan & Linda

1. Stefan and Linda

_A/N: I thought it would be interesting to write a collection of short stories and oneshots exploring the relationships between the various characters in the Wallander films. For me, one of the most interesting aspects of each episode is the way the characters interact together and the influence they have on each other, so I though this would be fun to write! First up, Linda and Stefan (who else?) As always, comments and suggestions are always welcome_ :)

* * *

"_You're the only shoe that fits_

_I can't imagine I'll grow out of it."_

– Sophie B. Hawkins

She tells herself to be firm with him. It's over. But when he turns up on her doorstep with a bottle of wine, why is it that she can't seem to resist the pleading look on his face?

It's not her job to look after him, worry about him, nurse him when he has a hangover, but she's always the one he turns to when he needs the kind of help he can't get from anyone else.

And she's glad. She does worry about him, care for him, watch his back for him. She once shot a man to save him. In the end, she'd do anything for him, just as she knows he would do for her. When she's not with him, part of her is always thinking of him, wondering what he's up to. The idea of him with another woman makes her irrationally jealous. Yet she has no reason to be. No matter what happens, he always seems to end up back with her.

She sighs and steps aside, allowing him into the house. Stefan is a habit that Linda just can't kick.

* * *

He'd like to be able to play the field like he used to, but when it comes down to it the only one he really wants is her. He regrets not making a commitment to her. Why did he let his cold feet dictate his course of action when he _knew_ she was a keeper? He was an idiot, but it took him a little time and several scares to realise it.

He sits with her in the hushed and sterile hospital room, having come so close to losing her, and draws a ragged breath into his lungs. He wraps his fingers around hers, swearing to himself that he'll always be there for her if she needs him. She squeezes his fingers back and he smiles.

Much later, when he feels that his head is about to explode, he knows who to go to, even if he can't quite articulate what's troubling him. He knows the concern she will feel. He knows she will try to understand. Going to Linda feels like going home, and there's nowhere Stefan would rather be.

* * *

In the end, after all the ups and downs they have suffered, there is still an unspoken agreement between them that whenever one of them needs something the other can give, it will be given.

Linda still remembers how tightly Stefan held onto her that awful day in the forest, when she had put a bullet into the man she once loved, how he held her hand when she was lying in hospital, a bandage over her eyes.

And Stefan still remembers the many times Linda has been his backup, his confessor, his friend.

If they believed in guardian angels, it would be clear to them that they are each other's angel. They are two halves of the same whole.


	2. Kurt & Linda

2. Kurt and Linda

"You're such a good girl, Linda."

Kurt Wallander mops his daughter's forehead, brushes the wet, clinging strands of her hair out of the way. Normally so soft and golden, it lies lank on the pillow, a dull puddle.

With concern he monitors her breathing, but finds it to be easier than before. The harsh rasp is gone and her fever seems to be subsiding. Her small ribcage rises and falls evenly. At last she's asleep.

"You're a good girl," he says again, as much for his own reassurance as hers. "It's all right now, Daddy's here. You just sleep, okay?"

The apartment is so quiet. He has no idea where Mona has got to; she said she'd be back by 8:30 and it's already quarter past nine. Frankly, he prefers the silence when she's not here. He prefers to sit by Linda, listening to her breathe, reassuring himself that the worst of her illness has passed. If she wakes and calls out to him he'll be right here. He's been missing from her side so often, but tonight he's not going anywhere.

With utmost care so as not to wake her, he tucks his girl in and gently pats her hot little hand.

Everything's going to be all right. Daddy's here.

* * *

"Where the hell have you been?"

It's dark outside. The door slams and Linda stands scowling in the hallway.

"Nowhere. I went for a walk."

"Look at the time! You've been out with a boy, haven't you?" Concern turns to anger. How dare she keep him fretting over her safety for so long?

"No I haven't!" She hates him intruding, hates his constant questions, the implied judgement behind them. Sometimes she feels as if she hates him. "I needed some time to think. What's the problem with that?"

"The problem is I was worried sick that something had happened to you. I've seen the sorts of things that can happen to girls your age, remember?"

"Oh, just leave me alone!"

Her door slams shut. Wallander stands in the hall, her words like a slap in his face. She's getting more like her mother every day, he thinks. What happened to my little girl? When did she change into this bad-tempered young woman and how did we drift apart like this?

Next morning all is quiet. Linda slips into the kitchen. She's not going to apologise to her father; he should mind his own damn business. She puts some coffee on, and stands yawning while it brews.

"Ah, you're up. I see you've scrubbed off all that make-up you had on."

Her father shuffles into the kitchen and takes some milk out of the fridge. Linda frowns, ready for another argument, but he doesn't persevere with the subject.

"Coffee?" she says icily.

He nods and takes the cup that she offers him.

"So where were you last night?" Like a dog with a bone, still. She decides to play along, give her father the detective something to chew over.

"I felt like running away, so I jumped on a train. I got halfway to Helsingborg then I changed my mind, so I hitch-hiked home with a lorry driver I met at the petrol station. I think he wanted to take me home and ravish me. Good thing I made it back here, really." She stands, staring at him with wide eyes. He doesn't take the bait. It's too obvious that she's trying not to laugh.

Shaking his head, Wallander looks at his fifteen year old daughter with an expression of tired amusement.

"You're a terrible liar, you know."

In spite of herself she giggles, which in turn makes him laugh, his anger forgotten. The tension dispelled, he gives her a paternal pat on the shoulder.

"Come on then, let's have some breakfast, hmm?"

* * *

The wind whipping in from the Baltic Sea disarranges her hair and makes her eyes water, or at least that's her excuse for the unexpected wetness on her face. She stares out across the strait: somewhere across the water are Germany and Poland and for a moment she wishes she was on the ferry bound for Swinoujscie, leaving this place and its heartache far behind. But she shakes her head. She's tried to run away from herself before. It doesn't work.

Kurt Wallander watches his daughter, so pale and forlorn in the brittle winter sunshine. Standing only a few metres away, she seems very far from him. He knows that she's had to learn some difficult lessons since she joined the police, but the last few weeks have been hard on them both. The loss of a colleague is tough to deal with at the best of times, but this time it's left a gaping hole in Linda's life, has left Wallander questioning himself.

Some gulls sweep overhead, mewling. Further down the beach a boy plays with a kite. The sun glistens on the water and they stand surrounded by it all, with the need to find a way of coming through, carrying on with this weight on their shoulders.

He goes to her, wraps his arm round her shoulder. He was unable to help Stefan, but he can try to help Linda. He gathers her into his arms. She leans into him and it's as if she's a child again; part of her still needs him to make things all right, and after all they've been through he desperately wants to. Linda struggles against tears, wipes her eyes. Her father hugs her.

"It's all right, Linda. I've got you. I'm here now, I promise."

She returns his hug and wipes her eyes, smiling a watery smile.

"I know. Thanks Dad."


	3. Kurt and Katarina

3. Kurt and Katarina

_A/N: This part has been a long time coming, but real life has an annoying habit of getting in the way... Hopefully the next update won't take me so long! :)_

* * *

What he really wanted was to find a way of reading her mind. He never seemed to know what it was she _wanted_. Her moods were a cryptic clue that he had as yet been unable to solve.

As he paced the corridor towards her office he wondered what he was going to find in there today – a friend or a coolly efficient public prosecutor?

Last week it had seemed like she couldn't get enough of his company. They had strolled on the beach together, with Jussi bounding in and out of the waves, splashing the icy water all over them. They had celebrated the resolution of a particularly trying case with a family dinner at her house, and even her kids had been in good form that day. They had relaxed over a bottle of wine and some scratchy jazz records at his house. He had felt closer to her than he had to anyone in a long time; his usual nagging loneliness had faded clean away.

This week it was as if she had had a personality transplant. She was keeping him at arm's length, he could tell. He wished he knew _why_. He wished she would tell him what she was thinking instead of presenting him with a locked door, a blank face.

Reaching her office, he sighed wearily and knocked on the door.

* * *

Katarina sat at her desk, staring out the window at the ferries in the harbour. She had not moved a muscle for the last ten minutes. She was so deep in thought that even the loud struggle out in the corridor as Svartman and Grönqvist dragged a suspect to the cells failed to register in her consciousness.

Kurt was being so unreasonable. Maybe he did believe he was right, and probably he was right, but surely even he could see when he was on shaky legal ground with a suspect? Why couldn't he put himself in her place for once? She would be the one who had to make it stand up in court, after all.

The thought made her angry. She slammed her desk drawer shut and as she gathered her files together she pondered what she was going to do with him. He seemed to think their friendship gave him carte blanche to do whatever the hell he liked. Well _she_ was the prosecutor, and it was obvious she was going to have to lay some ground rules.

Glancing at her watch she realised she was running late. Elias had football practice and Hanna needed to be picked up from her friend's house. She swore, grabbed her keys and bolted for the door. Now, on top of everything else he had made her late.

Without a word to Kurt, who passed her in the corridor as she went, she hurried out of the building to her car.

* * *

It had rained overnight. Wallander trudged along the soggy beach with Jussi bounding along in front of him. The dog was excited to be out of the house, and it was all Wallander could do to keep him out of the sea. The last thing he wanted today was to have to give him a bath.

In the distance he could see someone coming, kicking a ball as he went. As he got closer he realised it was Elias, slouching along with his hands in his pockets. The boy looked gloomier than usual.

"Hi!" said Wallander.

Elias looked up, startled. When he saw who it was he gave a reluctant nod.

"Oh, it's you," he mumbled. Wallander supposed it was the closest thing to a greeting that he was going to get from him today.

"What's wrong?"

Elias sniffed and shrugged his shoulders, which were already around his ears.

"I had a fight with Mum," he said eventually. "I wish she'd stop treating Hanna and me like babies. We're old enough to look after ourselves now."

"I'm sure she worries about you. You two are all she has, after all." It was hard to keep the note of regret out of his voice. Elias gave him a suspicious look, then appeared to relax.

"Look," he said, haltingly. "Can you talk to her? Please? She might listen to you. She likes you."

Wallander smiled.

"I'll see what I can do." He patted Elias on the shoulder. "Go on, practise your football. I heard you got into the first team."

Elias grunted and wandered away with his ball. Wallander called Jussi to heel and made for Katarina's house, wondering once again what mood he would find her in.

Katarina was sitting on the deck in front of the house, smoking. She had seen Elias and Wallander's conversation, how they reacted to each other, and suddenly her attitude softened. She smiled as Wallander made his way up the garden. She had spent so long thinking about the ground rules she was going to lay down that she hadn't expected to feel so glad to see him, but to hell with ground rules. Right now she needed some moral support, and Elias needed a friend.

"I don't know what to do with him when he's like this," she sighed.

"He'll get over it sooner or later. I remember when Linda was his age." Wallander sank into the chair beside her.

Katarina glanced at him.

"You don't speak about Linda very often," she said.

"No."

They gazed out to sea.

"Kurt?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry if I've been short with you this week."

"I suppose you've had a lot of things to worry about."

"Yes, I suppose so. You do realise, Kurt, that when we're at work we need to keep some professional boundaries?"

He gave a non-committal grunt in reply.

"But Kurt? I'm glad you came round today."

He smiled gently at her. It was as if the sun had come out all of a sudden.

"Shall we go for a stroll?" he suggested, gesturing toward the beach.

"Yes, why not?"

For a while they forgot about being a policeman and a prosecutor. For a while, strolling alone on the beach together, they were just Kurt and Katarina, two friends.


	4. Kurt and Martinsson

4. Kurt and Martinsson

* * *

Everything was new and slightly overwhelming to him: as soon as he set foot inside the police station the hectic atmosphere took his breath away. Fortunately the woman at the front desk was friendly, meeting him with a smile and showing him where he needed to go, and off he went, threading his way through the long network of corridors, eager to get to know his new surroundings.

He reached the correct door and stood, taking a deep breath as he read the legend on the plaque: _Kurt Wallander_. Raising his hand, Jan knocked on the door.

"Yes?" The voice from within sounded impatient. Jan thought he heard a phone being forcibly hung up. With trepidation he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The man behind the desk looked at him with barely-concealed irritation. He had clearly not shaved that morning and his eyes were red and puffy from lack of sleep. He also appeared to be in a foul mood, which made Jan a little nervous – he was already hyper-aware of his newness and inexperience.

"I'm starting today," he said. "Jan Martinsson."

"Sit down," Wallander waved at an empty chair in front of the desk. Jan sat.

"So, you've just graduated from the academy?" Wallander rubbed his face and attempted to look more human.

"Yes. Now I get to see what the job's really like, I suppose."

Wallander nodded and turned to look out the window.

"It's a world away from what you were doing at the academy. We need you to be adaptable and quick. And it will also help if you've got the stomach for tedious, mind numbing work hour after hour. We get a lot of that." He turned back round and gave the young recruit a searching look. Jan nodded.

Wallander opened his mouth to speak again, but whatever he was about to say became instantly irrelevant as the phone on the desk rang, disturbing the peace of the office.

"Yes?" Wallander snapped into the receiver, as if the phonecall were a personal insult to him. He listened for a moment, then crashed the receiver down and looked back at his new young colleague.

"No time to sit around talking," he said. "We've got a breakthrough on our case at last. You might as well come with me and see what it's all about."

He picked up a jacket from the back of his chair and strode out of the room, with Jan following at his heels.

The next couple of hours passed in a blur. Jan drove Wallander to an address outside Ystad. Once they were there, there were gunshots, a standoff, a raid by the armed response team. Jan watched proceedings in utter fascination, trying his best to follow every instruction given to him. Eventually several suspects were apprehended. While being put into a police car, one made a break for it.

"Watch him!" yelled one of the other officers. Jan gave chase, joined by the other policeman, and together they chased down the man, grabbed hold of him and brought him safely back again. Out of breath, Jan crouched, gasping, as the suspect was firmly pushed into a car. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up: Wallander was standing over him. He looked a great deal happier now than he had done earlier.

"Good job," said Wallander to his colleague. He watched the young man rise to his feet and mouth a breathless "thank you", while a couple of the other uniformed officers also patted him on the back.

Wallander nodded to himself. Not a bad start for a brand new recruit. He had a feeling that he and young Martinsson were going to get on.

* * *

Wallander didn't want to go home. There was no real reason for him to go anyway: his flat was empty, as always, and the only thing waiting for him was a bottle of Scotch that he knew he shouldn't open so soon. He shuffled the papers that were lying on his desk, a feeling of great gloom settling over him. He wished Linda were here, not so far away in Stockholm, unreachable even by phone most of the time.

The office door opened quietly and Wallander looked up in surprise to see Martinsson's head poking into the room.

"Are you still here?" said Martinsson, somewhat redundantly.

"It looks like it." Wallander leaned back in his chair and gave his younger colleague a morose stare. Martinsson nodded.

"I've just finished interviewing Ahlgren, he told us everything. The whole organisation's going down with him."

"I see. That's one thing to be thankful for, I suppose." Wallander paused and glanced at the clock. "It's pretty late. Hadn't you better get home to Elisabeth and the kids?"

Martinsson shook his head.

"Elisabeth's taken David to her mother's, and Therese is staying with one of her little friends from school."

"So you're on your own tonight?"

Martinsson smiled.

"Barring any emergencies, yes. I guess that makes two of us."

Wallander regarded his colleague for a few moments. They had known each other and worked together for more than ten years. He had watched Martinsson's rise from a wet-behind-the-ears beat officer to a competent member of his team.

"Janne?" he ventured. "Well done on the Ahlgren case. It was a tough one."

Martinsson nodded. Outwardly he was keeping a stoic face, but Wallander could tell he was feeling rather pleased with himself.

"It wasn't easy." Martinsson stretched and rubbed a sore spot on his neck. "I thought we'd hit a dead end until you turned up that stuff on Ahlgren's old businesses. Where the hell did you find all that stuff?"

Wallander shrugged. "I leaned on the right people."

Martinsson indulged in some quiet laughter. "I'll bet you did. I wouldn't like to be the poor fool that gets leaned on by you."

Wallander raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Martinsson cleared his throat, worried that the remark gone too far.

Wallander pushed his chair back from the desk, and stood up, still saying nothing. He stood by the window, staring out into the dark evening, apparently lost in thought. Martinsson wondered what was going through his colleague's mind.

"One day, Janne, perhaps you'll be better than anyone here at dealing with these cases." Wallander pulled the blind, blocking out the darkness. "Me included." He turned and faced Martinsson again, and nodded to him. He had pictured the future. One day Martinsson would be in this exact spot, having the same conversation with some young officer, encouraging him (or her) in the same way that Wallander was doing now. What was more, Wallander thought, he would probably do it better.

* * *

Martinsson was on a course. His office had been appropriated by Pontus and Isabelle, who were searching the car registration database. Wallander sat motionless in his own office, listening to the quiet voices of his trainees, and thought about how different things were when Martinsson was away. Strange how the absence of one individual could change the atmosphere in a team.

Wallander thought he understood why Martinsson took so many courses. He personally found them utterly interminable. But then he was old and stuck in his ways, as his interactions with the young trainees kept reminding him. Martinsson, on the other hand, found all the people management and psychology courses incredibly interesting and useful, and Wallander knew why. Martinsson was shaping up to be a Chief Inspector. A great one.

I should be happy for him, thought Wallander, but all the same he makes me seem inadequate.

Rising from his desk, Wallander strolled into Martinsson's office, catching Pontus and Isabelle in the middle of some in-joke, with grins all over their faces. They looked up him and tried rather unsuccessfully to feign seriousness. He nodded to them.

"I'm going out for lunch. If anyone wants me I'll be back at 2:30."

"Cool," said Pontus.

Isabelle smiled, but said nothing. For a moment Wallander wondered whether he should invite them to join him, then thought better of it. Even if they accepted, conversation would be awkward. After all, he wasn't Martinsson. He found Katarina instead, and spent lunchtime listening to her difficulties with Hanna and Elias.

The afternoon dragged. Nothing of any significance happened until precisely 5:37, when Wallander's door opened and in came Martinsson.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," said Martinsson.

"I thought you were away till tomorrow, " Wallander remarked.

"Strictly speaking, I am." Martinsson sat down opposite his boss and stretched. He looked at ease and in command of himself.

"How was the course?"

"Fine. I think it will be useful. You should have been there too."

Wallander shook his head.

"I don't get much out of most of those courses."

"Do you even try?" Martinsson said sharply. "You might believe you know it all, but it wouldn't hurt to do something new occasionally."

Wallander stared at him, stung by his words and tone of voice. He leaned back in his chair and looked thoughtfully at his colleague for a long time. No doubt Martinsson had a point. No doubt when Martinsson was in charge he would put all his knowledge to use and do a wonderful job. But Martinsson wasn't in charge yet. Wallander leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk, still looking at the man he considered a friend as well as a colleague.

"Janne," said Wallander. "I've been in this job a long time. Things were a lot different when I joined the force and I've tried to learn and adapt as much as I can over the years, but in the end there's only so much you can adapt to. One day you'll realise that."

Martinsson acknowledged his words with a nod. In the end, not everyone could be Martinsson, and maybe they shouldn't try to be.

The phone rang, making them both jump. Wallander picked it up and listened wearily to the voice on the other end. Finally he replaced the receiver with a grunt and stood up, rubbing his eyes with one hand while he reached for his jacket with the other.

"There's been a shooting at Mossbystrand," he sighed. "We'd better go and have a look."

Martinsson got to his feet.

"You're the boss," he said.


	5. Kurt and AnnBritt

5. Kurt and Ann-Britt

_"Try as I may I could never explain  
What I hear when you don't say a thing"_

"I thought you might come."

She smiles at him from where she sits on the floor, loading a few more logs into the new wood-burning stove. He smiles back, sinking down into one of her armchairs. A weary smile, it tells her all she needs to know about what's going on in his head.

"Would you like a drink? I have some Scotch." She throws out the mention casually, as if she always has a bottle of his favourite malt whisky in the cupboard. He doesn't need to know that she went out yesterday and bought some 10-year-old Glenmorangie precisely for this eventuality.

"I shouldn't." A rueful smile briefly crosses his face. "But I'm not feeling very strong. A small glass would be good."

She disappears into the kitchen, returning with two glasses of whisky. She offers him one and his fingers momentarily brush against hers as he takes it. She barely knows where to look. They raise their glasses to each other and each take a sip. The Scotch burns its way down to her stomach, leaving her momentarily breathless. She's not normally a whisky drinker and it amazes her how he can knock it back so easily.

He's finished his glass already.

"More?" she offers.

"Why not?" He holds out the glass and she takes it to refill it for him. Their fingers brush again and... is he? No, he can't be doing it on purpose. She tells herself to stop reading so much into everything. The main thing is that he's here. He came looking for a friend, so be a friend. But all the same...

The silence between them is a comfortable one. He leans back in the armchair and shuts his eyes for so long that she wonders if he's asleep. She studies the face that she already knows so well and wonders what they'll both do if it comes to the worst, if the doctor finds that there really is something wrong with him.

He opens his eyes and looks up at her suddenly with a worn out smile, and she finds she has to quickly swallow the lump in her throat.

"I'm sorry, Ann-Britt. It's been a long day."

She smiles, shaking her head a little.

"It's quite all right. Why don't you stay here tonight?"

He needs the company and, she realises, so does she.

* * *

As usual, she's there, gazing at him with that questioning look of hers. If it's not to do with the case it's bound to be about office politics or interpersonal relationships. In particular his daughter's relationship with Stefan. Inwardly, Kurt Wallander sighs. Not even he can figure out what's going on there, and damned if Linda will tell him anything.

"Is something wrong?"

She shakes her head.

"No, nothing. I just wondered if you'd heard?"

"What?"

She pauses and glances at her feet for a moment, before looking him in the eyes again.

"I'm transferring to Malmö. They've asked me to lead their serious crimes squad."

"Congratulations, Ann-Britt. You've earned it."

Her smile seems self-conscious and even though she looks suitably pleased, he senses something behind the facade, something hesitant and slightly regretful. He thinks he understands - it's a wrench leaving behind a close-knit team of colleagues, especially when you've been a member of it for so long.

"It's going to be different around here when you go. How long have we worked together now?"

"Oh, I don't know. More years than I can remember." She shakes her head again. "I'm going to miss you. I'll still be living in Ystad, of course, but it won't be quite the same. I hope we'll still see each other sometimes?"

"I hope so too."

She smiles, a little wistfully and seems to be about to say something else, when his phone suddenly rings and startles them both. Seeing that it's from Linda, he excuses himself. He can't help noticing that she gazes after him as he moves away to take the call. He wonders if there's something she wants to tell him, but can't find the words for.

After the phone call, as Kurt sits in his office staring into the middle distance at nothing in particular, he wonders if, after all, there isn't something else he should say to Ann-Britt.

* * *

_A/N: There's definitely some subtext between these two. In the books it's hinted at most clearly at the end of_ Firewall_, in the Swedish films_ Mörkret/The Darkness_ is a prime example. Whichever version you look at, there's just enough hinted-at romantic tension that I'm convinced that neither Kurt nor Ann-Britt would have been completely averse to the idea of getting together. Linda, of course, would have hated the idea _XD


End file.
